Sam in the aftermath of John's death, 2x01
by The.Impala's.Trunk
Summary: Sam's emotions straight after he and Dean are told that John has died. Kinda angsty, but reviews are much appreciated! Enjoy!


Sam's emotions in the aftermath of 2x01

"Time of death: 10:41am."

The words seemed to be heard by Dean and me, but not registered. Neither of us moved, and I felt unstoppable tears begin to blur my vision. This was _Dad_. He couldn't be gone. Not now.

But he was, the voice in my head told me. And you never gave him a chance.

I ignored the voice and returned to the unreal situation, I turned my head barely noticeably towards my brother on my left. I hoped he didn't know I was watching him, but I knew what this could do to him, and how he'd felt about Dad. In my gut I knew that the pain I was feeling right now (although it was mostly dominated by guilt) couldn't be any worse than my brother's.

Dean had not moved an inch, and was staring emotionlessly at the table where Dad lay, and at the doctors and nurses surrounding him. He was a very difficult person to read, but I knew him well, and I caught glimpses of disbelief and severe pain in his eyes. It seemed I wasn't the only one who was thinking this was an impossible scenario.

I didn't know what to do. I was completely lost. I knew how Dean usually reacted to close contact, but, right now, I felt that it was the right thing to do. I lifted up a hand and lay it slowly on his shoulder, then gripped fiercely. Dean jumped slightly and finally took his eyes off the table to face me. I couldn't translate the expression on his face; it looked like a mix of anger, desperation and denial. I let a tear slide down my face to let him know that it was alright to show weakness, but I knew that look. Dean wasn't having any of it. He looked from me to the table and back again, and then spoke quietly.

"Let's go. We'll get our stuff together and we're out of here in five, you understand me?"

I nodded, silently trying to get a little more out of him. Before I got the chance however, he walked past me and down the hospital corridor to his room again. I had practically nothing to pack, and besides, I knew it was ultimately better if I left him alone for a while. After all, it wasn't like I didn't have any problems or pain of my own to deal with.

As soon as Dean left me alone, my defence walls immediately disappeared. The shock of what had just happened and the overwhelming streams of pain and guilt washed over me. I swallowed back more tears and walked across the corridor and sat down. Thoughts that suddenly seemed incredibly relevant came to the top of my mind. What had I last said to him? What had he said to Dean after I left, if anything? Had Dean known it was going to happen? In answer to the last question my heart told me that he hadn't. Seeing his face a few minutes ago and seeing how he was acting now was his way of expressing grief or anger. I'd seen it a couple of times before, but this time was different. This had seemed to hit him really hard. I hoped he'd forgive me for what I'd said to Dad over the years. I hoped he'd let me help him get through this.

After a few more minutes of thinking I got up and began to go to Dean's room. I found him with his back to the door, now changed, in his leather jacket and jeans. It took a second for me to notice that he was shaking as he stuffed various items in his duffel bag.

"Hey."

Dean straightened up and composed himself in a flash. I knew he hadn't wanted me to see him as anything he saw as weak, and that included crying. He turned to face me and slung his bag over his shoulder. If I hadn't paused before speaking or been with him the last ten minutes, I wouldn't have known that there was anything wrong with him. I gave him a moment to reply, but he didn't take the opportunity. I spoke gently again.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Sam."

The reply came as quickly as a bullet. I knew the sign to back off the topic.

"Are you packed?"

Dean nodded and looked down at what he was holding, which I hadn't noticed till now. In his hands was Dad's journal. It was crazy to think that a mere few hours ago I had been searching desperately through it to try and help Dean ditch a reaper. So much had happened in the last four or five hours; it made my head spin. Dean looked down at the tattered leather bounding and flicked it over in his hands, as if he focused enough on it he could reverse the last hour of events. After a moment he shoved it in his duffel bag and threw it over his shoulder again, then walked over to me at the door. I stood still and waited for him to speak first, so what I knew I had to say next wouldn't sound so harsh or cruel.

"This is ours now. We're going to finish it."

I nodded in aggressive agreement.

"Look, Dean..."

Dean looked up at me, almost in acknowledgement that I was talking to him, but there was no expression in his face. I swallowed.

"He should go out like a hunter. We need –" the words got caught in my throat and I tried again. "We need the body."

Dean nodded sharply and dismissively. He paused for a minute, looking lost for what to do or say. I dug a few coins out of my jacket pocket and tossed them into his hand.

"Get a bus or hitch a ride to Bobby's. The Impala's there. I'll catch you up in about an hour, alright?"

"Thanks, Sammy." It was barely audible, but I heard it. He pocketed the change and walked past me, down the corridor and out of sight. I sighed deeply, trying to hold it together.

Would Dean get through this?


End file.
